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And now my eyes with transport rove
Unbroken by a cloud!
A full brimm'd river flow'd.
in accents rude, To thee, serenest Solitude,
Burst forth th' unbidden lay; “ Begone, vile world, the learn'd, the wise, The great, the busy I despise,
And pity e'en the gay.
« These, these are joys alone, I cry;
Thou deign'st to fix thy thronel
These, these are joys alone!
« Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares, Ye human hopes, and human fears,
Ye pleasures and ye pains !” While thus I spake, o'er all my
soul A philosophic calmness stole,
A stoic stillness reigns.
The tyrant passions all subside;
No more my bosom move :
Of universal love.
When lo! a voice, a voice I hear ! 'Twas Reason whisper'd in my ear
These monitory strains : « What mean'st thou, many would'st thou unbind The ties which constitute thy kind,
The pleasures and the pains?
“ The same Almighty Power unseen,
To Contemplation's eye,
And quicken'd every joy.
« He bids the tyrant passions rage,
And combat each his foe:
And happiness from woe.
« Art thou not man, and dar'st thou find
Presumptuous thought and vain!
is weak unless employ'd
~ Shall light and shade, and warmth and air, With those exalted joys compare,
Which active Virtue feels !
At her triumphant wheels?
66 As rest and labour still succeeds
Employ his toilsome day;
To sooth him on his way.
« Enthusiast, go, unstring thy lyre, In vain thou sing'st, if none admire,
How sweet soe'er the strain. And is not thy o'erflowing mind, Unless thou mixest with thy kind,
Benevolent in vain ?
Enthusiast, go, try every sense,
Thou yet hast learn’d to scan;
That man was made for man."
THE MAN OF SORROW.
BY MR. GREVILLE.
Ah! what avails the lengthening mead, By Nature's kindest bounty spread
Along the vale of flowers! Ah! what avails the darkening grove, Or Philomel's melodious love,
That glads the midnight hours !
For me (alas !) the god of day
Nor night her comfort brings :
Nor Philomela sings.
See how the sturdy peasants stride,
In cheerful ignorance blest !
By gay Contentment drest,